Nobody loves me, it seems.
The whole universe is conspiring to keep me here, a prisoner. Entire weather
patterns have rearranged themselves so the snow flies to far-flung New England
while our mid-Atlantic stays balmy and dry.
I am all dressed up with
nowhere to go, stuck in this garage with all the other crap my new owners
didn’t know what to do with. They took me out of my box, put me together and
charged me up, but I still sit idle. It was looking pretty good a few weeks ago
as the wind whipped the snow through rush hour. But by mid-morning, the veil of
white lifted and the sun came out. I remained unstained by salt and unused, and
everybody forgot about the snow soon enough.
What is the point of me?
Why did they buy me? As the world gets hotter, would my owners have been better
off putting that money toward designer bathing suits or fancy pool toys?
Barring a late winter fury
from Mother Nature, it is here that I will remain. I will collect dust in this
garage while my owners trip over me on their way to grab bags of garden soil or
lawn equipment. I will hibernate through spring and summer, hoping that next
year I will be of some use to somebody.
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